


A Simple Question

by Gem_Gem, harrylee94



Series: Bonded by Words Stories [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John Watson, Annoyed Greg Lestrade, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Greg Lestrade & Sherlock Holmes Friendship, Idiots in Love, Jealous Sherlock, Love, Love Confessions...sort of, M/M, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Random & Short, Scheming Greg, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Short, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Upset Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-11 13:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13525455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrylee94/pseuds/harrylee94
Summary: “I just want to eat and go to bed,” Greg informed him, opening the fridge to find his leftovers. “There is no ‘hang out with Sherlock’ on that list.”--The Bonded by Words Stories are co-written stories by Gem and Harry.Bonded by words forever.The only link these stories have is that they were written by us both and are of the Sherlock Fandom.





	A Simple Question

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little something we wrote when we were both bored and wanted to do something short, sweet, and random as hell.  
> We wrote this back in January.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sometimes Greg wished New Scotland Yard would catch fire and burn to the ground. No one inside it of course (well, maybe _almost_ no one), but all the paperwork would be nothing more than ashes, that broken chair of his would have melted, and he would have been able to replace all those ‘air conditioners’ that just didn’t work. And maybe he’d be able to get home at a decent hour too, though considering there had been a fire, he would probably have spent even _more_ overtime trying to find the culprit. Maybe not a fire then.

He sighed, finally turning into his parking spot outside his home. It had been a long day – too long – and his back was really feeling the effects of his crappy desk chair and leaning over what felt like miles of paperwork. Desk jobs were underappreciated, and he never wanted one. At least now he could eat that leftover Indian he had tucked away in his fridge, and his sofa was well and truly broken in.

Thoughts of a relaxing late evening pulling him onwards, Greg made his way up the steps to his front door and let himself in.

It wasn’t until he’d kicked off his shoes, shrugged off his coat, and made quick work of opening the top buttons of his shirt as he made for the kitchen, that he noticed the window in his living room was open. He’d not left that open, had he? Reckless. Too reckless. Despite the decent neighbourhood, he always locked up before he left for work. Had he forgotten? When had he even ever opened the living room windows?

Thoughts running wild, Greg headed over to it and pushed it closed with a frown, only to feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “Who’s there?”

At the sound of a soft sigh, he span to find, in the darkened corner of the room, Sherlock sitting on an armchair, wrapped in his coat and watching Greg in a mixture of amusement and irritation, “Really? ‘Who’s there?’ Come on, Inspector, you know better than that,” he snorted.

Greg groaned and turned on the light. “Go away,” he said, heading to the kitchen. “I’ve had a long day and I don’t want you ruining my moment of peace.”

“Bit late for that, clearly,” Sherlock murmured in reply.

“I just want to eat and go to bed,” Greg informed him, opening the fridge to find his leftovers. “There is no ‘hang out with Sherlock’ on that list.” Ah good, it was still alright.

“Never is. We don’t ‘hang out,’” Sherlock said. “The definition of ‘hanging out’ is to frequently visit a place or spend time with someone. We don’t do that.”

“And yet here you are,” the Inspector muttered, tipping everything onto a plate and sticking it in the microwave.

“I was bored.”

“You’re always bored! And why are you here? Why aren’t you lamenting your boredom at John?”

A thick, tense, silence filled the space between living room and kitchen as Sherlock chose not to reply, and Greg lifted his brows in confusion, before quickly catching on with a small, nod and a tight smile. John wasn’t there then. Sherlock was lonely, not bored. It had happened in the past, once or twice, though it had been a tad worse then, considering the man was sometimes off his face on drugs.

With a sigh, he opened the fridge again and pulled out the milk to make some coffee for the two of them and turned the microwave off. A few minutes later he was carrying two mugs into the living room. “Here.”

Sherlock glanced up at him with a blink, taking the offered mug slowly, “Thank you...”

Greg nodded and came to sit on the sofa opposite him, waiting for his coffee to cool a little before taking a sip. “… Does he know?”

“It’s been two weeks and four days since my last case. Is there nothing?” Sherlock asked him with a frown, feigning ignorance. “I’m at my wit’s end. - My website, my email, are full of morons with lost pets or deceiving partners. Tedious little things that would be over in an instant if they just _paid attention_!”

“I think the organised criminals are taking a bit of a break,” Greg replied. Of course, that didn’t mean the everyday thugs and graffitist and such were hiding.

Sherlock huffed and crossed his legs, taking a large gulp of coffee and looking aside, “It’s _hateful_.”

“So you decided to bug me about it,” Greg said. “You do know I’m not going to incite some poor sod to commit an ingenious murder just to keep you happy.”

“As if you could and as if I’d want that. It would be far too dull, too simple, not ingenious at all,” Sherlock mumbled, tapping his fingers against the armrest.

“Uh huh,” Greg hummed, and set his mug down on the coffee table. “Why are you _really_ here?”

“I told you.”

“No, you gave me an excuse,” Greg pointed out.

The ends of Sherlock’s mouth twitched tersely and he first looked down at his knee, then over at Greg with a steady, unreadable gaze, “Your evidence?”

“You’re _here_.”

“Unsound,” Sherlock countered.

“Sherlock, you never, _never_ , come to my house for cases,” Greg told him. “You text, you come to my office or, if you’re desperate, you call. But you’ve come to my home, probably because Mrs Hudson’s away and John is out for the evening.”

“I didn’t come here for cases,” Sherlock drawled. “I don’t expect you to have them neatly filed in the corner of your frankly sad excuse for a bookshelf.” He shot a glance at it with distaste and then took another gulp of tea. “And Mrs Hudson is in. She’s just asleep. One of her ‘early nights.’”

One of Greg’s eyebrows rose as yet more pieces slotted into their places. “Date night?”

“If anything, my coming here, is good for everyone involved. This way I won’t shoot at the walls again. Or dismantle the kettle. Or reorganise the objects in the living room according to size, colour, and use...or smoke the entire box of cigarettes that are hidden in the Bison skull...”

“You know he’s just going to keep asking women out, right?” Greg asked. “That’s not just going to go away because you’ve decided to sulk at me.”

“I see you’ve been giving in to the addiction recently. At _least_  two packs the past week,” Sherlock continued to mutter, glaring into the middle distance.

Greg pursed his lips and collected his mug again, sinking into the sofa to sip at it for a few moments. He had a weak moment… or twenty… but that wasn’t the point. “Sometimes I wonder if you’ve ever grown up.”

Sherlock’s glare was turned on him, “What’s that suppose to mean?”

“What you’re doing right now? My daughter’s at that stage of lying. It’s called _avoidance_.”

“Two different things,” Sherlock told him with a scoff. “And I’m not avoiding anything. Nothing you’ve said deserves an answer. Mostly because you already _have_ the answers to what you’re saying. I don’t like answering stupid questions. I never have.”

“Fine then; why the _fuck_ haven’t you said anything to him?”

“Another stupid question,” Sherlock said, and though he tried to sound arrogant and cold, Greg heard the lingering sadness there, saw the slump in his shoulders, the downturn of his mouth.

Greg sighed, “I’m not your father,” he said, shifting forwards and placing the mug on the table again, “but I want you to listen to me, and I want you to listen _good_.” He paused, making sure Sherlock was paying attention, and ploughed on before Sherlock had the chance to interrupt. “I know you don’t have much experience with friends – _don’t_ – and I know you’re not the best with emotions, but for God’s sake, _talk_ to him. I don’t care if you’re scared what he’ll say, being miserable and lonely is worse – and I _know_ you are, don’t lie – so just suck it up and _say something_. He’s not psychic you know.”

“He’s not _a lot_  of things,” Sherlock snapped and shifted, jaw clenching. “I...have nothing to say to him.”

“Right,” Greg drawled. “You can always start with how him not being there makes you feel.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and turned his head, flitting his eyes away, “Jaded...” he murmured, before he sighed sharply and got up, putting his mug down and heading for the door.

“What about when he _is_?” Greg called after him, not moving from his seat.

“Don’t worry about my turning up here again,” Sherlock threw over his shoulder as he slammed open the door and stepped out. “You can wallow in your ‘moment of peace’ to your heart’s content.”

“Did you _really_ say you were ‘married to your work’?”

Sherlock paused and after a moment he turned his head, “ _I am_.”

“Well that’s a shame,” Greg said, rising to his feet. “I think John might have thought he’d have a chance if you weren’t.”

With a laughing scoff, Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, tugged at the collar of his coat, and then stepped back inside, “No,” he said blankly, shutting the door, leaning against it and smiling a twisted, tensed, hurt, and somewhat condescending smile. It slipped off his face slowly, leaving the man seeming impassive. Greg knew better.

“You know, he actually thinks _you'll_  be uncomfortable if he admitted he was bi,” Greg said, picking up their mugs and checking the content of Sherlock’s. There was still a little left, but not much.

“What? _Why_?” Sherlock asked, suddenly frowning. “He—What _else_ has he said to you?”

Greg had to force himself not to smile, remembering all the times John had complained to him about how completely unfair it was that ‘the sexiest man _ever_ ’ was both his best friend and completely out of reach. “Why should I tell you? I thought you didn’t want to talk about John.”

“I _never_ said that,” Sherlock shot back.

“Fine, you didn’t want to talk about _feelings_ ,” Greg corrected and swallowed the last of his coffee. “Why should I talk about John’s feelings anyway? That was all said in confidence you know.”

“Then you shouldn’t have mentioned it at all,” Sherlock told him in annoyance, moving close to Greg in an unsure and almost timid way.

“But then you wouldn’t be this curious, would you,” Greg replied, and headed into the kitchen to finish reheating his late dinner. “I can tell you this though; on pub nights? You’re _all_ he talks about.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. He talks about me anyway. We live together, work together,” Sherlock said as he followed. “What else would he talk about? The weather?”

Greg shrugged, “His work, his sister, his time in the army, his current girlfriend…”

Sighing, Sherlock waved a dismissive hand, “ _No_. His work at the clinic is boring, his sister is ignoring him, his time in the army is past, and...he doesn’t see the girlfriend _that_  frequently. They are not a continuously current presence. I _am_  – But you can’t say he doesn’t talk about her at least a small bit. If he talks about her to _me_  then he must bring her up when he’s with you.”

Greg shrugged and pulled a fork out of mess that was his cutlery drawer, “Why don’t you ask _him_?”

“Ask him _what_?”

“’What would you do if I _wasn't_  married to work?’”

Sherlock exhaled through his nose loudly, “He likes _her_ ,” he muttered.

“Then, when this relationship inevitably falls through,” sorry John, “ask him _then_.”

Looking around, Sherlock clenched his hands, shifted, and then abruptly grinned, leaning close to Greg, “ _You_ ask him,” he said. “And _this_ has all been in confidence too. So you can’t mention this to him. At all. _Ever_.”

Greg blinked, then smiled in reply, “Fine, I will,” he said, then poked Sherlock away. “Now bugger off. I want to eat my Tikka Masala in peace.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes but turned and went back to the front door, opening it to leave, “You should invest in a better lock,” he uttered as he left, shooting Lestrade a grin. “On the door _and_  the window.”

“I said _bugger off_!”

* * *

This case had been a more than welcome distraction. It had been weeks since the last one, and he'd been slowly going insane from the monotony of the days. Then, of course, there was Sherlock, who was just impossible to deal with in his moments of boredom. That alone would lead anyone to anger and frustration and, good God, why was he always lounging around like that? And why did he have to do it such a provocative way?

But then he'd had Fiona, and for a while he'd been able to stand it, at least a little. She'd broken things off after two dates, four days ago.

Thank God for Greg.

Sherlock had all but flung himself at the case, eager for something to stimulate his mind, and, as always, he was extraordinary. It had taken a little time to find all the clues (and figure out what Anderson had inadvertently destroyed), and it had led the two of them on a merry chase, but now the Detective Inspector was leading them back to his office for their statements.

“This can _wait_ ,” Sherlock groused in a low snarl at Greg’s back, coat flying out behind him. John was sure Sherlock did it on purpose. He loved the dramatic flare. “Like it _always_ can. I’ve given and done _more_ than enough. Why must I be punished by giving tedious statements left, right and centre? - The evidence and confession is _more_  than enough for you to go on.”

"We need your statements, Sherlock," Greg sighed, walking past the office stalls in the pit, clearly determined to get to the coffee machine considering how deep those circles were under his eyes. "The sooner you do it, the sooner everyone can go home."

“You don’t _need_ them. You have enough, I _just_ told you that,” Sherlock growled, frustrated.

"It won't take long," he replied. "Just sign a few things, answer a few questions..."

"Just do it, Sherlock," John sighed.

“Shut up, John,” he snapped moodily, running a hand through his ruffled hair. “If we’re not done in _five minutes_ , I’m leaving.”

" _Fine_ ," Greg snapped back and opened the door, ushering them inside with a sharp gesture.

Sherlock went in first, pushed past John and shot a dark, sulky glare at Greg as he stepped in, closing his coat about him with a melodramatic tug, “ _Fine_ ,” he muttered.

John sighed and gave Greg an apologetic look, "Sorry mate. You know how he is."

"Yeah," the DI replied and closed the door behind them. "How do you put up with him?" He sent Sherlock an annoyed glare.

“Funny, I was going to ask him the same question about _you_ ,” Sherlock retorted as he yanked a chair out roughly, sitting in it with a huff like a big, pouting child. “Hurry up then. Give me these stupid ‘things’ to sign and ask me whatever pathetic questions you need to.”

"Just need to ask John something," Greg said, leaning against the door and coving the handle.

John frowned, "Don't you-"

"What if it _wasn't_ 'marriage'?"

John blinked, "... What?"

Sherlock looked over sharply, body stiffening from it’s previously immature slump, “ _Lestrade_!” he barked.

Greg shifted and kept his gaze in John, "If it was more an... _open_ relationship, sort of thing."

John frowned and shook his head, "Are we... talking about the case?"

“ _Lestrade_ , enough of this! Five minutes, remember? Five minutes and I’m _going_ ,” Sherlock told him. “Or sooner if you keep this up.”

"He doesn't _seem_ very married, does he?"

John's cheeks flushed as he realised exactly what was going on, "There isn't any paperwork, is there."

Greg smiled.

"I can't... Just _move_ ," John said. "I'm going home."

Sherlock stood, “I’m going with you,” he said, already moving to John’s side, collar flicked up. “Lestrade, if you _ever_...” He stopped talking and John saw him narrow his eyes, gesturing to the Inspector. “Move!”

Greg raised his hands and stepped out of the way, "Have a good night!"

John huffed and walked past him with a glare. Like he was ever going to trust _him_ with anything again. What the hell?! What was he thinking? To do that in front of Sherlock...

“I’m _never_ doing statements again,” Sherlock told the man as he reached the door. “Real or fake.”

"See you at the next case," Greg called after them, and shut the door, leaving them to head back through the pit in their angered silence.

"Fucking _bastard_ ," John muttered and all but punched the button for the lift.

Sherlock frowned at him, “I would have thought you’d be less angry. Normally you are. _I’m_ the one that should be cursing him – I hate having my time wasted,” he mumbled. “And for nothing too.”

John paused, "... He's prying into _personal_ matters," he gritted out, "talking about things he shouldn't."

“...He...” Sherlock blinked and when the doors opened, he hesitated in confusion, an odd uneasiness to him, before he stepped inside. He spoke again, but only when the doors slid closed. “Personal to who?”

John ducked his head and pressed the button for the ground floor. Fuck, now he's said too much. "You... of course. Being married to your work."

Sherlock shifted, “You’re angry because he mentioned my being married to my work not _actually_ being a ‘marriage?’ Or...is there...something else?” he asked in a rumble, brow furrowed. He inhaled quickly in the next second and turned to face John. “Is this the first time he’s brought this up? - What’s he said to you?”

John turned away, knowing his expression would give him away, "Just _forget it_ , alright? The case is over, we can just... go home and do what we always do."

“What if he brings it up again?” Sherlock mumbled.

"He won't if he knows what's good for him," John muttered darkly and stepped out of the lift. " _None_ of his bloody business..."

“Whether I’m married or not to my work?” Sherlock questioned, sounding puzzled and curious. “Why are you so— _What_ did he say to you beforehand? Before today? Did he say anything? Is that why you’re...angry? Because you’re trying to save me from inevitable embarrassment? - Though it doesn't make sense why you...why _he_...wait a moment... _wait_!”

John charged out onto the road, looking for a taxi, or some way of avoiding this conversation, "I didn't say... it's nothing. It's _nothing_!" Where are those damn taxis?

Sherlock grabbed his elbow, turning him around before John could shrug him off, “Wait,” he breathed, looking at John and walking around him when John tried to turn away. Sherlock kept stepping into his line of sight until the man just ended up grabbing John’s arms. “You...talked to him about me, didn’t you? You’re angry because you told him things in confidence, about me, and you’re peeved you think he’s ‘prying’ into _your_  personal matters. You said something to him at the pub and you think he was teasing you or—” He followed when John wrenched away. “ _I_ told him to ask!”

John froze, looking up at his friend in shock and a growing horror, "You... _you_ told him to?" he asked, his voice filled with the betrayal he felt. "You set this up? Is this... some kind of a _joke_?"

“What? _No_!” Sherlock replied with a snort. “No, I...I didn’t set anything up. - I wanted him to ask you, but not like _that_. He was just being a smug arse. I’d upset him, snapped at him, so of _course_  he was going to get his own back by bringing up what I’d asked him to ask in private—I didn’t specify, so _technically_ he could have asked you at _any_  time and he just chose to do it now.” Sherlock sighed, rubbing at his hair with one hand. “I suppose he’s also still sore because I let myself into his flat four weeks ago.”

"... You broke into his-? No, that's not..." John huffed. " _Why_?"

“I was...bored,” Sherlock exhaled with a shrug. “Plus, if I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have upped his security. Which he has, by the way. I checked.”

" _No_! Why did you tell him to ask me about... the work!" John clarified, his anger building again. "If you wanted to clarify that you were already attached you could have asked yourself."

Sherlock blinked at John’s tone, taking a step backward, and adjusted his scarf, “Um. Right...” he mumbled. He went silent after that for so long that John felt his eye twitch, his face heat, and twirled to find a taxi, to walk away, to just _be_ away, and then Sherlock sighed. “How did you get that from what Lestrade was saying to you? _Why_ would I ask him to ask you—well, all right, he didn’t _exactly_  say it the way I wanted but...it’s...close enough...”

John stared out over the traffic, gritting his teeth, "It was a test, wasn't it?" he replied. "I'm _not_ gay, Sherlock, so there's no need to worry."

“No, I know you’re not,” Sherlock said, sounding annoyed. “You’re not _listening_ to me. - Yes, I suppose it was _like_ a test...” He grabbed at John again, turning him around with a glare and letting go once he was. “ _Answer_ the questions: What if it _wasn't_ 'marriage'? If it was more of an _open_ relationship? I don’t seem very ‘ _married_ ,’ do I?”

John frowned at him, "Sherlock..." he started, but then sighed. "I... suppose not? I mean, you don't go out of your way to find cases."

“Sometimes I do—But that’s _not_ the point,” Sherlock told him, swallowing, looking away with clear aggravation, and then dropping his gaze to the floor. “You didn’t answer them all.”

"I don't... Sherlock, I _don't_ understand." He swallowed too, something he dared not even identify rising in his chest and catching in his throat. "You don't want a relationship. _Why_ are you asking me this?"

“You can’t be _that_  stupid,” Sherlock mumbled, glancing up and then clenching his jaw. “If you’ve changed your mind, then...just say so.”

" _What_ are you talking about?"

“You _know_ what I’m talking about,” Sherlock countered.

John stared up at him for several long seconds, then, taking a deep breath, he nodded and stuffed his hands into his pockets, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

“Girlfriend? No. Not really my area.”

"Oh... Boyfriend then?"

“No,” Sherlock murmured, fingers fidgeting with his coat sleeves. “Not yet.”

The corner of John's lip twitched slightly, and he stepped closer, "Do you mind if I... fill that role?"

“Not at all. I’d prefer it, in fact,” Sherlock answered, cheeks pinked and eyes flitting over John’s face, pupils dilating.

John's heart burst into a pool of sunshine as his lips split open into a wide grin, " _Brilliant_ ," he whispered, and pulled at Sherlock's lapels to finally - _finally_ \- kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

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> [Gem's Tumblr](http://gem-gem-bites.tumblr.com/)  
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